Lion, Badger, Eagle, Snake
by bachunderground
Summary: The Sorting Hat tends to make its best decisions when contradicted. This is more common than you might think.


1991

"Granger, Hermione!"

The tall lady barked it out like a curse. Hermione was terrified, but she wasn't going to show it. She strode up to the hat and didn't flinch when it touched her head. She had to push down her hair a bit before it started talking.

Its voice was a whirlwind, half-sound and half-impression. It reminded her of an auctioneer on those boring shows her dad liked to watch. "Ah, cleverness _and_ bravery. The world could use more of that combination. You're motivated, but ambition takes a back seat, so no Slytherin... very hard worker, but you're more than a Hufflepuff. The real question is, will you wear red or blue?"

"A fine puzzle. We have to look at your most basic characteristics, I suppose. Love of learning, check. Calm and logical disposition, check. Tendency to preach, check. The only thing I see to dissuade me of Ravenclaw is your impressive moral character. In another time, you might have led troops into battle, like old Athena. But Athena – or should I say Minerva? - was a goddess of wisdom as well as of war."

It paused, as though gauging her reaction. "I guess our situation, then, is classical in nature. What say you: wisdom, or bravery?"

Hermione hardly understood what the Hat was saying. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, cast into a world where everyone and everything spoke riddles and nonsense. She wondered what the Hat meant by giving her choice. Was she even supposed to choose? Or was it another test? The whole situation was ridiculous.

"I don't see why I can't be smart _and_ brave," she thought, directing it towards the Hat.

The Hat seemed to sniff in approval. "A bold statement," it said. Then it switched to a roar: "G_RYFFINDOR!"_

"Longbottom, Neville!"

Neville almost tripped coming up to the stool, and, flushing, waited in terror for the Hat.

What it said did not ease his nerves. "Little ambition, a little bumbling. Great loyalty and humility... and you are brave, as well. Ah, child, you have the makings of a hero. I can't imagine any House more suited to you than Gryffindor."

"W-what?" Only Neville could stammer in his own thoughts. "No, that's not right. I'm not a Gryffindor."

"Oh?" If the Sorting Hat had eyebrows, it would have used them to great effect. "You feel you are a coward, yet here you are, contradicting generations of knowledge and wisdom passed on by the Founders themselves. Do you think you know yourself better than I do?"

"No, sir!" thought Neville. "I just don't think I'll be very happy in Gryffindor. My grandmother thinks I'm a fool, and she's right. If I go into Gryffindor, then she'll get her hopes up for nothing."

"For nothing?"

"She'll think I'll be some kind of hero. Like... my parents. But I'm not a hero. And even if I was, I wouldn't want to be one."

"Well, what do you want?"

Neville didn't know, and he knew the Sorting Hat knew he didn't know, so he offered what little he had. "I think I want to be happy. I saw Professor Sprout coming in and she smiled right at me. I always liked to garden, even before I showed any magic. If I were in her house, I could just tend to my plants and - "

"And be safe?" it asked pointedly. "Is that what you want?"

When the Hat put it like that, Neville wasn't sure anymore. "I just want to be happy," he thought.

He felt the Sorting Hat pressing down on him, as though it was concentrating. It sighed. "Ah, I see now what drives this. Your parents were Gryffindors, and they were heroes. Their heroic behavior left them broken beyond repair, and you without parents. At least, this is how you see it."

Neville wasn't sure whether he wanted to cry or to tear the Hat off his head, so he did his best not to think and sat quietly. "But that is not how it is. Their heroicism did not cost them their sanity, it was the villainy of others. Villains are not all-powerful forces to cower and run from. They're just people, like you and me, but bad. Somebody has to bring justice to them. Do you think Bellatrix Lestrange would be in Azkaban right now if nobody had stood up to her? If you don't stand up to people like Bellatrix Lestrange, then they'll always be out there, killing good people and worse.

"I will never, so long as I persist, sort a child into a House against their will. But I urge you to consider Gryffindor. You may not feel like it now, but you are your parents' son. You know what they would want of you, and I know you can deliver it. I have argued against what children see as their parents' wishes before, Neville, but this is not such a case. You would make a fine Hufflepuff, but Gryffindor would make something fine out of you."

Neville swallowed. He was close to becoming a Hat-stall, and he didn't like the way everyone was starting to fidget. Before he could lose his nerve, he made a decision.

The Hat said no more, but shouted, _"GRYFFINDOR!"_

More first-years went to their tables. Harry Potter was placed in Gryffindor, to obvious relief. Some of the new Slytherins twitched. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and supposed savior of wizard-kind, was now in enemy territory. The ultimate good was a bloody _Gryffindor_. Did that mean that Harry Potter was bad? Was the Dark Lord good? Was Slytherin bad? Doubt hung over the table, unspoken, unthought, but felt. The roll call continued.

"Weasley, Ron!"

Ron shuffled forward and awaited the Hat. He was more nervous than he wanted to admit. He told himself that he was a Weasley, that he would go to join his brothers soon.

"Another Weasley. Not a drop of cunning in you, that rules out Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Bravery? Average. Now, _loyalty_, you've got plenty of that. More a follower than a leader. I think you could prove a wonderful contribution to Hufflepuff house."

Ron went cold. Images of his brothers, red scarves to match their hair, flashed through his mind. What would Fred and George say if he turned up in yellow? What would Mum do? How would -"

"Ah, I see. Think no more, child. I see you have the wrong idea about Hufflepuff, but you're not alone. Purebloods have an unhealthy fixation with House and family pride. When families get like that, well, it goes against the very purpose of Sorting. But alas! You'll make a lion yet. If it's any comfort, you're not the first Weasley I've wanted to put somewhere else."

Then the Hat cried _GRYFFINDOR!_, and all was well again. Everything was going as it should.

1971

"Snape, Severus!"

The greasy-haired boy shuffled to the stool and sat. The Sorting Hat scanned him quickly.

"Very clever, but not for clever's sake. Loyal, some bravery, but very introverted... ah, you've got Slytherin blood! I remember your mother. Very sharp at potions. I think you'll do just fine down in the dungeons."

Severus couldn't argue with it. He looked at the Gryffindor table, where Lily Evans was already chatting with the other girls. He saw a blue-eyed boy saunter up to her and say something. The boys nearby laughed; Lily stayed silent. Severus almost said something, something the Hat could feel.

For a moment, it wavered. But not for long. "You cannot choose your House for anyone but yourself, boy," it said. Then it shouted _"SLYTHERIN!"_, and the next child took on the hat.

1892

"Dumbledore, Albus!"

First-years were supposed to fear the Sorting. And who of all first years had more reason to be scared than him, the son of a Muggle-killer? But Albus was not scared. Not then. Before, in the Hall, he had been almost sick with anticipation. Now he was calm. He met the Hat with a straight back and a placid look, like a soon-to-be-slaughtered pig that has accepted its fate.

First there was silence. Albus waited an eon before the Hat finally spoke.

"Yours is sharper than any mind I've touched in a generation, yet knowledge is not what drives you. You have a great light within you, a capacity for empathy far beyond your years. But that light is tempered by something... darker. You hunger, like no wizard I have met since Merlin. You hunger for power."

"Please, not Slytherin," he thought.

This stunned the Hat. "Why not? You could be great, you know. The greatest Slytherin since Merlin, perhaps greater."

Albus thought quickly and with force. "Nobody trusts a Slytherin. Everyone says it's the House that evil people go into. Salazaar Slytherin didn't even want Muggle-borns inside of Hogwarts. If I'm put in his House, everyone will think I'm just like my father. A no-good, Muggle-killing criminal. And if everyone thinks I'm like that, then nobody will trust me. I'll have to work even harder to win them over. If you tell everyone I'm ambitious, then they'll know what to expect of me. And then my ambition harder to achieve."

The Sorting Hat wished more than ever that it had corporeal form. It wanted to loom over this insolent child, to swell in anger before him. "Your logic is foul and low, but it is sound. Hear my decree: I will never, so long as I persist, sort a child into a House against their will. To do so would render the Sorting pointless, for how can a child flourish among its self-proclaimed enemies? But I do not appreciate this gaming of the system, either. You don't want to be in Gryffindor to improve yourself. If that were the case, I would endorse it wholly. But _you_, - you want to _use_ your position in Gryffindor to influence people. This level of forethought, this plotting, it's – it's unnatural, it's snakeish."

The Great Hall was starting to murmur. Albus noticed that the Deputy Headmaster was scowling. How long had his Sorting gone on?

"I will put you where you want to go, but I leave you with a warning: Although I place you in Gryffindor, you are a Slytherin, through and through. Like all Slytherins, you must know your power-lust for what it is, and you must learn to control it. You still have your inner light. Focus on developing that, and perhaps someday, you'll be worthy of - of Godric's house."

When the Hat said its creator's name, Albus thought it radiated a gentle sadness. Later in life, he would tell himself that he had imagined it. The Hat did not feel; it was merely a tool for what the Muggles called psychoanalysis. It was the pinnacle of objectivity. It _had_ to be, or else generations of Sortings were called into question.

"Your desire for power will be your downfall," said the Hat. Then it announced its decision, or rather, Albus' decision, to the hall. As he walked to Gryffindor table, Albus hardly heard the cheers.


End file.
